Saturday, June 30, 2012

Dreamer's Ball (of the Foot)

I had another weird dream last night.  (I probably have them every night but don't always recall.)

I can't remember how it started, but I ended up at our old home in the Philippines in the middle of the night.  I was in the backyard.  It was pitch dark, and I had a flashlight. It was just after a storm, and there was plenty of debris and disorder around.

I looked up towards the roof of the kitchen, which was made of nipa palm leaves, and there was a baby shark stuck up there.  It didn't seem to be moving.  I wondered how that happened.  Then next to it, by a papaya tree, there was a bigger, fatter shark.  It wasn't moving either.

Our kitchen had two doors, one on either side of the house.  (I'll skip explaining the design of the house that my father built because it might take me all day.)  I stood by the other door and shone a light on the big shark, and it seemed to be hanging on the tree as some sort of decoration, with three strings that formed a pyramid shape over it.  The big one wasn't real, but the baby shark seemed to be.

I shone a light around the other side of the yard.  I think I wanted to make sure everything was fine, that nothing was stolen and that there were no intruders.  I didn't see much except for more mess.  I went back inside.  On the floor was more junk, including palm fronds for some reason.  I skipped over some of the mess towards the living room and felt a quick pain on my right foot, like I stepped on something pointy.

For some reason, I worried that a snake had bit me.  It didn't seem plausible that a snake could get its fangs right on the ball of my foot as I landed on it, but I looked closer at the palm fronds anyway.  And then I saw a little tail, shaped like one of the leaves, wriggling and disappear into it.  The dream seemed real but at the same time I was also thinking that if I didn't worry about it being a snake, it wouldn't have been so.  It's hard to explain.

So having confirmed my fear, I began to worry if it was poisonous.  And then I started feeling tired and groggy.  So then I realized I should do something.  I went over to my old room, which was pretty small.  I opened the door, and the bed was almost the same size as the room, only allowing for a few feet for me to walk in and a little drawer by the wall.  At this time, there was light in the house, and I don't remember what happened to the flashlight but I no longer had it.

The sheets were in some kind of blue and white, almost flowery pattern.  Sleeping on the bed was one of my best friends from childhood.  It was supposed to be my room, but for some reason it belonged to him now.  And certainly, my bed was never that wide.  He was about ten to twelve years old, and apparently, I was, too.

I nudged him, and he began to stir.  I let him know that a snake had bit me, and he slowly got up and got ready.  I showed him that there was a little hole at the ball of my foot.  He was going to take me somewhere, probably a hospital or something.  But before we departed, we suddenly decided to embrace each other quickly.  We hadn't seen each other in so long.  And then we started to go.

I texted my mom that I had gotten a snakebite.  And then I texted my eldest brother.  I think they were at some party, and they may have been together.  For some reason I thought texting would be better for my health than calling and wasting energy or whatever.

My friend and I had our arms around each other as we walked.  I remember thinking, "Not like this, not like this."  I was getting very drowsy and really afraid that I would die.

And then I woke up.  I thought, "Oh, thank God."  It was just a dream.  Again.

And now to analyze it.

First of all, I think returning home to find my childhood home in disorder is just about things not being the same anymore.  When I went home to the Philippines a few years ago, the house was being rented out, and I couldn't explore it like I wanted to.  One time I chased a little puppy who ran inside and apologized to the tenants for it, although they didn't really mind.

The sharks are weird.  It's like there was a tsunami instead of a storm.  The baby shark was real but seemed to be dead, while the adult shark was fake.  I could certainly apply that to me, I guess, since I'm definitely not the person I was.  Does that mean I'm now fake?  I'm not sure.  I'm certainly more self conscious now than as a child.

I have a memory of that papaya tree.  It was during a big hurricane when I believe my mother was already in America.  My eldest brother was away in college.  The winds were really strong, and the tree was really bending over low.  My dad rushed out into the storm to try to save it.  My other brother came with him to help.  I wanted to go outside as well, but I was told to stay inside, so I stood by the door and watched them.  I don't remeber if we saved it.  I don't remember if the tree was what they wanted to save, or whether my father thought it would be dangerous for it to fall onto our house.

In the dream, I was really worried about thieves and intruders.  I felt very protective shining that light around in the surrounding darkness.  I wanted to be sure there was nothing lurking out there.

As it turns out, the thing that almost killed me was actually on the inside already.  I can also be a bit of a hypochondriac at times.  I worry about heart attacks and aneurysms and stroke and appendicitis and cancer and so on, and I think I might have them.

The fact that it was on the ball of my foot.  Is it because I'm really into football?  Do dreams work that way?

When I left the old country as a child, I never got to formally say goodbye to my friends.  The petition was approved, the ticket was bought and I was gone.  So I think that's what the embrace signifies.  Also, I really do miss my childhood friends.  We got together when I returned, but everybody was different already.  Furthermore, we've all spread out around the world.

The thing with my mom and brother?  Well, let's not even go there.



Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Memory Gland: Motorcycle in the rain.

When I was a little boy, we had a blue motorcycle.  Being the youngest, I got to ride in front, by my father's lap.  My father drove, and my mother rode in the back.  She would be side saddle when she was wearing a skirt.  Sometimes my two brothers would have to squeeze in the back seat.

Meanwhile, I got to see all the view.  I felt special.  Except sometimes the metal gas tank I was sitting on would get so hot and I would burn myself.  I got to hold on to the handle bars and pretend I was driving.  When we would approach a corner, my dad would alert me so I could beep the horn.  (We didn't have traffic lights, so people honked at intersections.)  And then I would cheer him on as we approached to overtake the other vehicles.  I was so proud.

There was a point in time when it seemed like every weekend, we would all cram ourselves into that two-wheeler and have an outing at the beach.  I remember us tying a nylon net full of ripe santol fruits on one handlebar, and a multi-colored striped plastic bag with other goodies on the other side.  I remember climbing on with excitement while the rest of the family was still hastening to get ready.

One day, my parents and I went to a party at another town.  When we left for home in the evening, it rained heavily all of a sudden.  It didn't let up, and the spark plug got wet.  The motorcycle stalled.  My dad pushed it for about a half a mile as we all walked home in the rain.

I distinctly remember my parents being cool about the situation.  That was the one and only time I could remember sort of playing in the rain together.  Generally, they were fairly successful and took themselves kind of seriously.

We washed up when we got home.  I think my brothers had dinner already prepared.  We all laughed about it.  It was a fun adventure.